


Reconciliation

by lesbiancarisi



Series: Trans!Sonny [1]
Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Coming Out, Dysphoria, Internalized Transphobia, M/M, Trans!Sonny, contemplating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 10:24:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14518437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbiancarisi/pseuds/lesbiancarisi
Summary: Sonny shouldn't feel guilty about this.





	Reconciliation

 

One of the things that Sonny prides himself on is being open about his life. He’s been out as bisexual for however many years now. He’s a devout catholic and doesn’t bother to hide it. His heritage is important to him, and he loves to cook, and he always talks things out. When it comes to his loved ones, he’s an open book. There’s just one thing that he can’t bring himself to talk about. Now, logically, he knows that it’s not like he’s keeping a secret. It’s no one’s business but his own. He doesn’t owe his lieutenant or his partner or even his boyfriend information so personal, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling guilty anyways.

Especially when things get heated with Rafael, like they did last night before bed. Obviously, Rafael would never make him do anything he doesn’t want to. They kiss, they get a little more into it with hands that roam under Sonny’s shirts on the smooth skin of his back or skim over his butt through the fabric of his pants, but if Sonny says stop, wait, or slow down, Rafael listens. He doesn’t have to make an excuse, but it’s hard not to want to come up with something. For as much as Sonny tells victims that they can say no for any reason, or that they have a right to privacy, it’s difficult to apply those same rhetorics to himself.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Rafael asks over a breakfast of single cup coffees from the keurig and fluffy pancakes, courtesy of Sonny and his early bird demeanor.

Sonny wants to explain everything he’s thinking about, but instead he shakes his head and plasters on a smile. “Nothing you’d be interested in, Rafael. You know me, it’s la la land.”

He doesn’t have to look up at Rafael to know that he doesn’t believe him, but before he can be questioned further, he stands up and scoops up the dishes from his half-eaten breakfast. Even if he doesn’t need to be in for a couple hours, and he had intended to stay with Rafael and then accompany him on his way in to work, Sonny makes up a lame excuse and hurries out the front door.

It would make sense to call an uber or take the subway, given how far the trek to the cathedral is, but Sonny decides to walk. He’s always found the near deserted streets of early morning New York City to hold a certain magic to them. All around him are the signs of lives, millions of lives that seem shallow at first glance but he sometimes remembers are just as complex and nuanced as his own. The wind has its own life too, nipping at Sonny’s nose, cheeks, and lips. Cold this sharp focuses his thoughts.

Like he does about most of his problems, Sonny prays when he makes his way into the empty pews. An old woman sits beside a pastor in one of the rows, the two of them with their heads bowed in prayer. Sonny doesn’t disturb them, even goes so far as to make his footsteps slow and soft so that he doesn’t make a disruptive sound. He knows that he likes quiet when he prays.

Sonny sits down and reaches into his coat for his rosaries. They’ve been kept warm by his body heat, despite the freezing temperatures outside. He wraps the beads around his hands and shuts his eyes to pray. First and foremost, he clears his mind as best he can, focusing on the musty smell of the old hymnals and the slight discomfort of the wooden benches with thin cushions slung on top almost carelessly. Then he starts thinking, stringing together words and thoughts as best as he can. Some people say that you should be formal when you talk to God, but Sonny isn’t so certain. He thinks that if he’s going to pray, he should be able to speak the way he would to an old friend, one who knows everything there is to know about him anyways.

He asks for a lot of things. For the guidance to explain to Rafael, eventually, all the things that he’s struggling to say. For the strength to allow himself, all of himself, to be known and loved. For the wisdom to find the words. For anything and everything he needs to lift the weight of something he’s been carrying on his shoulders for far too long.

Is it better or worse that no one suspects? Sonny first cut his hair short when he was thirteen. His parents were mad, but once he explained, they were nothing if not supportive. He was on T by his sixteenth birthday. His graduation present had been top surgery and a legal name change. Nowadays, you look at him, his tailored suits and his gruff voice, and no one ever thinks about the possibility that he might not have been born right.

That comes out wrong, but he can’t think of another way to explain it. How can he possibly explain to anyone what dysphoria feels like? Not fitting in is a feeling that Sonny’s used to. He’s never been well liked among his peers. But to feel like he doesn’t belong, not even in his own body, is impossible to describe. It’s almost like being disconnected from his body. What his brain wants him to be, what it thinks it is, doesn’t match up. A cop’s salary doesn’t lend much to saving up for what insurance deems a cosmetic surgery, and what little extra that he had went to law school.

Before he knows it, Sonny realizes that he’s supposed to be at work in less than half an hour. If he hurries, he can still make it to the precinct on time. He’s still careful to be quiet as he rushes out, so as not to disturb the other people, but he’s much more rushed than he was coming in. More people are on the sidewalk now, and no one spares him a second glance. Suit-clad, harried looking business men brush past on the phone, and spiked stilettos click clack unsteady patterns on the cement. Between going into the church and leaving, New York has come to life.

The precinct is no different when Sonny arrives. A perp is being hauled through the bullpen to interrogation by Fin, while Rollins and the Lieu are bent over a computer screen. Sonny may only be a couple minutes late, but the day has already picked up.

“Nice of you to join us, Carisi,” Rollins says.

“Traffic, sorry. What’re we lookin’ at?”

And just like that, the morning’s inner turmoil melts away with the much more pressing concerns of the latest serial to hit the precinct. No matter how many suspects they’ve tried, no one fits the bill. Everyone’s frustrated, and when Rafael comes by to be briefed, Sonny suddenly finds a million things to do that prevent him from being at the meeting. No doubt that when Rafael pulls Olivia into her office for ‘a word,’ it’s to ask if she’s noticed that Sonny’s having a bad day. Normally, he’s touched at how much Rafael cares, but now it has him on edge. This thing that shouldn’t be that big a deal, that shouldn’t be a secret, is crushing him very slowly today and he hates it. If he knew how to make it go away, he would.

His suspicions are confirmed when he’s called into Olivia’s office after Rafael leaves- not without saying goodbye of course- to have a personal conversation She asks him if he’s alright (“Yes, lieu.”), if something’s on his mind (“Not except for the case.”), if things are okay between him and Barba (“Never better.”) and all sorts of other probing questions that aren’t specific, but are definitely designed to find out why Rafael’s worried. When she dismisses him, they both know that it’s not the end of the matter. One morning where Sonny gets a little stuck in his head, and now all of his carefully crafted excuses are falling apart. He’s been through hell over this- including avoiding the hospital that one time he was beat with a metal bat while undercover and definitely needed medical attention.

By the time Sonny’s allowed to go home for the day, he’s exhausted, on edge, and wants nothing more than to curl up in bed with Rafael and be held and comforted. But in order to get that, Rafael’s going to ask him again what’s on his mind, and the lying is getting exhausting. Dinner is waiting in the fridge for him at home- Rafael had ordered himself takeout from the Italian place on the corner when Sonny had to stay late, and got him something that can be easily reheated in the microwave. After long days, that’s often all of the cooking that Sonny’s capable.

He should have known it was a trap. Rafael’s smart like that. While he’s warming his dinner, Rafael corners him in the kitchen and fixes him with a pointed look. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

“What makes you think something’s wrong?” Sonny snaps.

“Well, considering Liv said you’ve been lost in thought all day, and you were upset this morning and short with me right now, I’m gonna guess that you’re not telling me something,” Rafael says.

The microwave beeps at the same time as Sonny’s nose stings with tears. He hates that feeling, that warning that he’s about to cry. It makes him feel like he’s blowing things out of proportion. While he stirs his pasta, he keeps his focus firmly on the little plastic dish and the fragrant steam wafting off of it. He sniffles, and it’s then that Rafael takes Sonny’s left hand and laces their fingers together. It’s his way of reminding Sonny that he’s right there, no matter what happens.

“If I tell you, you gotta hear me out.”

For just a second, Rafael squeezes his hand a little harder. “Of course.”

Sonny takes a deep breath. This is his last chance to come up with something, anything else to say, but he draws a blank. Now or never, right?

“I’m transgender.”

“Okay.”

Whatever Sonny was expecting, that wasn’t it. “Just okay?”

“Would you prefer I preach at you or ask you about your genitals?” Rafael says.

“Well no, but…”

He trails off, not sure where he’s going with his sentence. It’s great that Rafael’s not upset or anything like that, but he honestly doesn’t know how to react. Even if his family came around, they initially weren’t the most understanding or accepting. He expected the fear to melt away, but it doesn’t. Not yet, but it’s fading.

“But nothing. I love you for your personality, Sonny, not whether you identify as a boy or a girl, or what you were born as. And I’m really proud of you for trusting me to tell me.” Rafael pauses, as though trying to piece together his next thought. “Just to clarify- you’re my boyfriend or my girlfriend?”

The wording is careful, and Sonny appreciates that Rafael is trying to understand, to make things clear. “Your boyfriend.”

And now he sees the realization in Rafael’s eyes about all the times that Sonny’s gotten anxious in intimate moments. There’s no anger or disgust like he was worried about, just the same love and fondness that he’s come to expect Getting that weight off of his chest makes Sonny feel worlds better than he did just that morning.

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr is coincidentally also @my-sonshine


End file.
